Barnes & Noble was my playpen. I could get lost there for hours.
My section of choice was history – with a special focus on the military and the Mafia. I was an odd child.
I read the Mafia Dynasty over and over. Then Mob Star. Then Made Men. Then Murder Machine. Then Boss of Bosses.
The cashiers never asked about them. They scanned them and sent me on my way. What kid doesn’t reach their early teens and start reading about Murder Incorporated and the Five Families and the DeMeo gang.
The only book I was ever questioned about was when I bought “The New Encyclopedia of Modern Bodybuilding”, which for me, was my bible around 14. Less questioned and more commented when a 50-year old scrawny man with a long mustache said, “you know, in this book, they talk a lot about shocking the muscles.” Thank you, kind sir, I’ll be on my way.
But there was always one section where I stopped before history. The section where all of lifes answers could be found.
Magazines.
Did you newest issue come out yet? Oh behave, it’s still the October 2008 issue of GQ with Megan Fox on the cover? Already have it. Read it five times.
GQ. Esquire. Men’s Health. Flex. Maxim. FHM. Vanity Fair. These publications meant something. They were the internet before the internet existed. If you wanted to find your niche, or learn about a corner of the world that was foreign to you, you needed to open the pages of a magazine.
And they were thick. Yes, with ads, but even more so with truly groundbreaking and fascinating articles. When I want to read about a old business deal, or corporate raider, or just a cool MF who does cool MF stuff, you can bet that the New Yorker and Vanity Fair have likely written the definitive tale.
And the best part? There was an ending. Instead of endless scrolling, you had to pace yourself and dive into each piece fully. If you loved it, you read it again. Yes, because it was great, but also because what else did you have to read.
Then once the pages were worn, you waited until next month’s issue.
